The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (best thriller novels of all time .TXT) 📗

go in and do extra hours at all sorts of odd times, but it’s still not enough. I want him to get into office work, accounts or something, but he’d have to study for exams to do that, and somehow he’s never got time for it.’

‘These air raids have made life busier for everyone.’

‘I grant you that, but he manages to find time for his mates, and for his amateur dramatics. That’s all been cut back, of course, what with the war and everything. They don’t do proper performances like they used to, and I keep telling him he should use the time for studying, but he says they’re doing play-readings instead, whatever that means. I suppose it means they sit around and read a play – strikes me as a complete waste of time, but it seems to keep him happy.’

‘We have some bad news for you, I’m afraid. It’s—’

‘I know. It’s about Joan, isn’t it? You needn’t worry – my mum’s told me about it already. It’s a terrible business, but at least she’s at peace now – doesn’t have to put up with all these bombs any more.’

‘Were you close to Joan?’

‘We got on all right, but I didn’t see much of her, what with my working hours and hers both being a bit irregular.’

‘Did you see her on Sunday?’

‘Is that when it happened?’

‘Yes, sometime after she finished work on Sunday evening.’

Elsie slowly shook her head. ‘No. I was at work myself on Sunday evening. It’s dreadful, isn’t it? Just thinking of her being – you know. I always insist on Derek walking me home when these air raids are on. I’m not going out there on my own, I’ll tell you that for nothing. You never know who might be prowling around in the blackout, do you?’

‘Derek’s your husband?’

‘That’s right. I was due to knock off at eight o’clock, but I stayed on a bit until it sounded like the bombing had stopped and it had all quietened down outside. Sunday night’s Derek’s fire-watching night, see, so I had to make sure he’d walked me home before it was time for him to go on duty. Mind you, it was more like me walking him home – the air raid had made him all jittery, and when he gets like that it’s like walking home with a jellyfish. I don’t know what he does on those fire-watching shifts – if an incendiary landed anywhere near him I think he’d run a mile. You should’ve seen him when he tripped over that sailor – nearly jumped out of his skin.’

‘A sailor?’

‘Yes. Some bloke lying in a shop doorway, legs sticking out all over the pavement. I knew he was a sailor, because of the uniform – nobody else wears those bell-bottomed trousers, do they? I wouldn’t have noticed him in the blackout, only there was a torch lying on the ground beside him, still on, so I bent down and turned it off. Derek can’t have been looking where he was going. You could smell the drink on him – the sailor, that is, not Derek. He looked like he’d had a few too many and passed out. Well, you know what sailors are like with the drink – we’ve had a few rough times with his sort in the pub over the years, I can tell you.’

‘Do you happen to know who this sailor was?’

‘No. A sailor’s a sailor to me. But I’m pretty sure I’d seen him before. Judging by what I could see of his face, he was the one who’d been selling stockings in here earlier on.’

‘What kind of stockings were they?’

‘I don’t know – I was too busy behind the bar to see them close up.’

‘Would anyone else know his name?’

‘I don’t know. You could try the landlord, though – I can ask him if you like.’

‘Thank you, but I think we’ll ask him ourselves before we go. Tell me, though, when you came across the sailor in the doorway, where was it?’

‘On the corner of Martin Street. You know – just down the High Street a bit, past Station Street.’

‘And what time was it?’

‘Well, Derek came for me just before half past eight, and we walked home, so it would’ve been a bit after that.’

‘It’s about ten minutes’ walk home, I imagine?’

‘Yes, we got home about twenty to nine.’

‘And forgive me for asking a strange question, but when you saw the sailor lying there, was he wearing a cap?’

‘A sailor’s hat, you mean? I’m not sure, let me think. Yes, now I remember – he was sort of slumped in the doorway with his back against the wall, and his cap was pushed down towards his eyes a bit, still on his head but looking a bit precarious. Why do you ask?’

‘It’s just that we found a sailor’s cap in Joan’s flat, and we’re wondering how it got there.’

‘Sorry, can’t help you with that – we just left him there and carried on home, back to my mum’s house. I stayed in after that, and Derek went off back to Carpenters Road to do his fire watching.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Marwell. I think that’ll be all.’

‘You’re welcome, I’m sure. So what was Joan doing entertaining sailors in her flat?’

‘I’m not suggesting she was. It’s probably of no significance, but it’s a little loose end that I’d like to tie up. Which reminds me – before we go there’s another small matter you may be able to shed light on.’

He motioned to Cradock to pass the suitcase, then opened it and took out the tunic.

‘Do you recognise this?’

She looked at it blankly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Never seen it before.’

‘Very well, in that case we’ll let you return to your duties, and we’ll see the landlord on our way out.’

They found the landlord serving drinks in the saloon bar, as before.

‘Got what you wanted?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Jago. ‘Mrs Marwell was most helpful. She happened to mention,